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Blue Dragon 4
Blue Dragon 4 is an encounter in Civil War. Enemies * Blood Wolf (100 Gold, 100 XP, 100 Energy, 3/5/5 HP) * Orc Beastmaster (120 Gold, 120 XP, 120 Energy, 1/3/3 HP) Transcript Introduction Nevis lay under his blanket. His eyes were weary, their lids lumps of iron. But thoughts pursued each other through his brain, an endless chain of hungry beasts, predators and prey devouring and devoured in turn, chasing away sleep. A day... One single day had thrown his world into chaos and brought about a new and unfamiliar order. It was impossible. Had he really woken up in his own bed that morning, as he'd done almost every day of his young life, and watched soft light spill through the little window? Now he lay beside the red glow of a dying fire, under twinkling stars. Surrounded by armed strangers. He wondered what the others were doing back in the village. Did his father lie awake too? Was he troubled and fearful? Outraged that his son had been taken? Or was he proud? And what about Hetti? Was she crying for him? The idea gave him a guilty thrill. Warm gruel settled in his stomach. Carolyn delivered on her promise, and his belly had welcomed it -- sating hunger that had gone unnoticed until that first spoonful. She said they'd have to forage tomorrow. Find their own food. But for now he was satisfied, and future hunger seemed a dim and distant thing. They'd all talked over the bowls. Chumgrak with his brash, easy friendliness. Ryli purring as she ate, tail brushing his back as it swayed from side to side. Even Yaealina had been civil and spoken to him. He'd felt like an adventurer from his childhood stories -- meeting strange new warriors, sitting around a campfire and talking of past and future triumphs. He'd had nothing to brag about, of course. No stories of courage and victory to share with the others. But he'd let their banter envelop him and carry him off into a realm of unimaginable possibilities. His mind grew heavier, slower. Sleep was coming at last. He'd had to excuse himself when his eyes closed and he nearly dropped his bowl. He'd gone back to his sleeping place regretful, only to then lie awake. But now he was in that no man's land where thoughts wove into dreams. Nevis' eyes were half-closed when the darkness shifted, blackness moving within blackness. They twitched further open. A slender form sharpened in the coalescing moonlight. A layer of shadow sloughed away from her, slipping off her shoulders and hugging her shape as the cloak pooled at her feet. Yaealina undid her corselet's fastenings and pulled it off her body. Her undergarment rode up in its wake, unveiling skin that shimmered ethereal in the moonlight, and the swell of her breast. Breath stilled in Nevis' throat. She froze. Her head snapped round. The boy screwed his eyes shut and tried to breathe, to sham sleep, hoping against hope that she hadn't seen. He didn't dare open them again even after he heard her lie down. They were still closed hard when his consciousness finally drifted away. Elf girls with creamy skin and cold, beautiful smiles flitted before him like silver shadows. "You were watching us," they said. They glided towards him, daggers in their hands. "No!" he said. "I... I wasn't! I-" His eyes flicked open, and if the world he awoke to contained undressed elves or naked blades, they didn't inhabit this little portion of it. He exhaled. Yaealina was asleep just a yard away, her body folded in slumber. Nevis turned around. Ryli was on the other side. She wasn't using a blanket, but was curled into a dark ball instead. The place beyond her was missing. Chumgrak's axe rested there alone, bereft of its master. He wondered if the orc had found his way into a group of gamblers or drinkers. That thought left his mind when a more immediate one replaced it, the same insistent notion that had troubled untold generations of men before him and would until the end of time. He needed to piss. Nevis pulled his blanked off and stood up. Ryli's ears twitched. The felpuur mumbled something inaudible and moved a furry forearm over her eyes. He glanced around, but none of the others stirred. Good. He doubted they'd be pleased if he woke them up on account of his bladder. There was a latrine pit somewhere around here. Carolyn had mentioned it, hadn't she? But as he shifted from leg to leg, adjusting his crotch, he couldn't remember where it was. Had she even told him? Nevis didn't know. And his flooded bladder assured him that he didn't have time to find out. He tiptoed away from the campfire's dead husk, half-waddling, thighs pressed together to suppress the imminent explosion. The grass was cold under his bare feet. That icy tingle on his soles heightened his desperation. After a dozen paces he broke into a run -- making for a dark clump of bushes. The universe seemed an infinitely superior place when urine was streaming across the dirt and leaves. Relaxation flowed through his body. Nevis shook himself a few times and began to move out from behind the foliage. But he froze there instead, then shifted his scrawny form back into hiding. Because something was moving nearby -- on the slope of a hill that rose up from the plain like a pimple. No, not something... Someone. Soldiers! The king's men! They'd found the camp and were about to attack. It was an ambush, a... The thought parted along with the clouds and shadows. A shaft of moonlight fell, illuminating the figure. It was Chumgrak. He was still fully dressed. A small unlit lantern swung from his left hand, while his right clutched an object the boy couldn't make out. Nevis thought of calling to the orc, but there was something about his movements that dissuaded him. Chumgrak's head turned this way and that, scouring the landscape. Nevis waited. He looked on as the orc returned to his sleeping place, crouched by his pack, and fiddled with its contents -- all the while glancing from side to side. A moment later he was lying down. Whatever he'd been doing was complete, and Nevis was the only one who knew he'd walked abroad that night. The boy waited for perhaps half an hour before he made his own way back and lay down under his blanket. Sleep eluded him once more, and thoughts raced through his brain. Conclusion Brawl boss unlocked! The blood wolf's jaws were huge, fearsome weapons of war which could rip a woman's arm or leg from her body and leave her bleeding to death in the mud. Even their eyes were horrible, glaring orbs that might make seasoned warriors flee in terror. Other warriors, perhaps. But not Rakshara. She braced herself for the creature, eyes narrowed, feet planted. It growled and snapped the air twice -- like a soldier banging her sword against a shield to build her martial fury and frighten her foes. If the animal hoped for the latter, it would be disappointed. "Fight!" Rakshara shouted it in her people's tongue, a hard, guttural syllable that was more a particle than a word. A sound so short and simple even a child could shape it, the building block of a civilization. "Fight!" The beast leapt. Hundreds of pounds of muscle, bone, scarlet fur, and widening maw came for her. She swung her left arm and battered it aside with her shield. The wolf fell in a heap, whining like a pup, blood leaking from its fractured skull. A thrust of her sword ended its suffering. And when the beastmaster charged in his dead creature's wake, bellowing and swinging his axe, a second one did for him too. Rogar's Dream punctured armor and orc. Another slain enemy, another mark on her tally. Perhaps the crystal kingdom's seneschals would know all their names. She hoped so. Then she'd be able to thank each foe for paving her way into that wondrous place. Rakshara looked around for a fresh opponent. But all the others were claimed by those who didn't require her aid. A bloodrager hurtled at Tessa, death shrieking from his mouth and gleaming on his sword. Yet the reaper's kiss was on her arrow as well. And it flew first. He ran a few more paces with it lodged in his neck, before his legs went and he tumbled. His body stopped rolling at the archer's feet. Elsewhere Hugh was wreathed in lilac fire, a beautiful, blazing inferno that made a spike-bearer skid and stumble to a halt -- charge broken in the face of impending immolation. Her head was broken next, when the Titaran's cleaver sundered her helmet and split it in two. As for %name%... %He% was in the thickest of the fighting, where %he% always was. Three orc warriors raged and hacked at %him%. %He% wove between their steel, moving so fast there appeared to be three of %him% too, all ducking and dodging, translucent afterimages... No. Not afterimages. Doppelgangers. Illusions. For the three were moving with minds of their own, fighting and evading. Their weapons even parried, turning away the orcs' blades with the clang of genuine steel. The greenskins all fell in the same moment, one bleeding from his slashed throat, another from a pierced heart, and the third from the gaping rent where his intestines dribbled. All three images drew together and hardened into a single being. %name% turned round and basked in the rebels' gasps and cheers. Rakshara sighed. It was a magnificent performance, but it was just that. A performance. Something to inspire and impress. The Kasan had done many such things of late. She wondered if they masked a guilty heart, troubled memories of those they'd left to their fate at the armory. And if so, she hoped time and fate would release %him% of that burden. Because %name% Kasan was a good %man%. A champion. A hero. And heroes had enough weight on their shoulders. Category:Civil War